Chapter Eleven
K it could not sleep. She had tossed and turned for the last few hours while slumber continued to elude her. She sat up in bed with a groan and brushed the hair out of her eyes.
Their servants would be rising soon—mayhap she could ask for a pot of tea and something to nibble on. What she needed was sleep, but her insecurity about how she would fill the role of Alec's countess plagued her. She had no qualms about marrying him after admitting to herself that she had fallen in love with him that first moment she spied him from the ladies' observation gallery.
She donned her dressing gown and slipped from her bedchamber. No point in rousing the rest of the household just because she could not find her sleep. Kit made her way to the servants' staircase and descended. It was early enough that there were no piles of laundry to avoid, just the third step from the bottom… It creaked no matter if you stepped in the middle of it or one of the edges. She opened the door at the bottom of the staircase and walked along the darkened hallway, using the tips of her fingers against the wall to guide her past the pantry and the series of small rooms between the stairs and the kitchen.
It must be later than she'd realized—Cook whirled around with her hand to her heart. "Lady Catherine! You scared ten years off my life. Are you feeling anxious about marrying the earl later this morning?"
She apologized first, then replied, "Not about marrying the earl. I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like something bad is going to happen."
One of the footmen ran into the kitchen and jolted to a stop at the sight of her. "Lady Catherine! This missive is for you. It was delivered an hour ago, but I had strict instructions not to give it to you until now."
Kit frowned, but thanked him as she accepted the missive. "Who is it from?"
"Some baron or other."
Her blood froze and her heart skipped a beat. "Hudson?"
"Aye. Were you expecting a message from him?"
"No." Her hands shook as she broke the wax seal. The handwriting was written in a firm, but cramped, hand. A feeling of dread filled her as she read the brief, unsigned message: Stansbury. Chalk Farm. Dawn.
Gathering her wits about her, she folded the foolscap, murmured her apologies, and dashed from the room. Running down the hallway, she yanked open the door to the servants' staircase and tripped twice before remembering to lift her hem up. Heart pounding, eyes welling with tears, she returned to her bedchamber, closing the door with trembling hands.
She tore off her dressing gown and nightrail and pulled on the chemise and gown she had carefully hung up a few hours earlier after finishing her packing. It needed laundering, but she could not worry about that now. She pulled on her half boots, sans stockings, grabbed the midnight-blue cloak she had worn to the mystère masque , and grabbed the matching reticule that still held the folding knife she'd carried that night as protection. Kit had not needed it—a handsome stranger had come to her rescue. A broad-shouldered, gallant man who stood head and shoulders above the crowd. That same brave man who was about to risk his life in a duel!
She hurried down the main staircase only to pause partway down. Their butler was standing by the front door, which was open a crack, watching something intently. Was there someone outside hoping that she would read the missive and rush to Chalk Farm? Would they try to detain her, or spirit her away somewhere?
With a stealth she'd perfected as a child sneaking into the library late at night for something to read, she crept down to the bottom step and sprinted toward the library. The door closed behind her with barely a sound. She bumped into one of the chairs flanking the fireplace in her haste to reach the terrace doors. Pausing to listen, she breathed a sigh of relief. All was quiet. No one was coming. With a quick glance around her, she judged it safe, opened the doors to the terrace, and hurried toward the back of the walled garden, and the tree she used to climb to spend many a happy morning watching the city around her come to life.
Kit had not counted on the weather interfering with her desperate need to get to the farm where the duel would be held. The light rain muffled her footsteps, but made the tree bark slippery. She skinned her shin and cut her knee, and wished she had taken the time to put on her stockings. Shoving that thought aside, she concentrated on climbing the tree and getting over the wall, before whoever their butler was watching discovered that she was in the garden. Her foot finally found purchase, enabling Kit to reach for the branches and pull herself up into the tree. Her gown snagged on a branch and tore as she shimmied along it and lowered herself to the top of the wall. Her heart fell at the realization that she may have managed to scale the wall, but she was still a few feet above the ground, with no source of transportation to reach her destination.
Botheration! I should have brought a rope, or at the very least a bedsheet, to tie to the branches and lower myself down.
Sitting atop the wall, she felt her belly ache at the realization that she would not reach Alec's side, where she should be. Hudson could not be trusted!
"My footman will help you down, Lady Catherine."
Kit noticed two things at once—the liveried man walking toward her, and the veiled woman leaning out of her carriage. "Mrs. Dove-Lyon?"
"Help Lady Catherine down—we haven't much time to get to Chalk Farm."
She did as she was told, thanked the man, and hurried to the carriage. "You know about the duel?"
"Of course. Hurry!"
She reached for the widow's outstretched hand and was yanked into the carriage. As soon as she was seated, the coachman set the team in motion. There were few carriages at this hour, as most of the ton 's entertainments had ended an hour or so earlier.
"I take it from your appearance on top of the wall that Hudson contacted you," the older woman murmured.
"Yes. His missive was very brief. I am so grateful that you are here," Kit rambled on. "I was trying to avoid whoever our butler was watching outside the front of our home, and I did not think to bring coin to pay a hackney. Thank you for coming for me!" She paused and met the widow's steady gaze. "Why did you come for me?"
"I could not very well leave you behind and attend the duel without you, could I?"
Kit had no idea what to say except to thank the woman again.
The widow inclined her head and rapped on the ceiling. "Faster!"
"Are we going to get there in time?" Kit rasped.
"We will. Not to worry, the earl will be well guarded, and the baron will not get away with this!"
"Why is Alec involved in a duel?"
"Why else?" the widow asked. "To avenge your honor."
Kit frowned and pushed the strand of hair that had slipped from its pins out of her eyes. "I haven't gone anywhere or done anything ill-advised, until I climbed the tree by the back wall of our garden just now."
"I admire your tenacity. I do believe you and the earl will enjoy a long and happy marriage."
"Because I climbed a tree and managed to get to the top of the wall without a thought about how to descend without landing on my head?"
"Or your bottom," Mrs. Dove-Lyon added helpfully.
"Erm… Yes. Quite."
The horses were running full out now that they were nearing the farm, and the widow rapped on the ceiling again. The driver slowed down as they approached four other carriages that had arrived ahead of them.
"I would warn you about the rain, but you are already quite damp." With a look that brooked no argument, Mrs. Dove-Lyon rasped, "I shall go out first. If no one is about, I will open the door and you can slip out…quietly."
"Has it started yet?"
"Did you hear a pistol firing?"
"No."
"Wait here."
"Yes, Mrs. Dove-Lyon."
The widow exited the carriage and, a few moments later, opened the door and motioned for Kit to follow her. Like two wraiths haunting the castle grounds at midnight, they moved in the opposite direction from the other carriages, closer to the field as the rain began to fall harder.
When Mrs. Dove-Lyon stopped, Kit glanced about to see where the threat was. A huge, hulking man stepped out from behind a tree, nodded to them, and returned to his position behind the tree.
"Do you—"
The widow hissed at her to be quiet. Kit bit the tip of her tongue in her haste to close her mouth.
"Seconds, are the weapons in order?" A deep voice carried through the rain.
"Gentlemen, stand back to back. When I give the signal, take twenty paces, turn, and fire. Understood?"
"Aye."
"Aye."
Kit recognized Alec's deep baritone. It soothed her bone-deep fear. The rain let up as the count began, and a scuffle sounded behind them, to the left of them, and to the right.
The widow clamped her hand on Kit's arm and whispered, "We are surrounded, but not in danger. Keep your head."
Kit didn't answer fast enough, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon gave her a shake. "Ye…yes!"
The sound of a pistol being fired, and the sharp intake of breath that followed, had Kit turning around to face the field. A heavy mist surrounded them, but she could see Alec. His upper arm had a bright crimson streak visible against the white of his shirt. While she watched, it slowly bled.
The widow reached for her, but she evaded the woman's grasp and ran to the field. Nothing would keep her from Alec!
He raised his pistol above his head and fired into the air. He'd deloped ? Did that mean he gave up, or that her honor was not worth fighting for? She shoved those thoughts aside and called out to him as she ran toward the man who meant more to her than life itself.
He turned, lowered his arm, and strode toward her. She tripped in her haste to reach his side. He steadied her and demanded, "What in the bloody hell are you doing here, Kit?"
"You're bleeding!"
"I noticed, but not the response I am waiting to hear."
"The missive," she rasped.
Quinton could not believe what he was seeing. Kit was staring up at him as if she'd seen a ghost. How had she found out about the duel? He stared down at her, willing her to say more, and when she did not, he demanded, "Who sent the missive?"
The tears welling in her eyes spilled over. "Hudson."
Quinton turned back to the field and bellowed the man's name, but the baron had disappeared.
"You played right into my hands, Catherine."
Quinton cursed and spun back around. The baron had played on Quinton's emotions and momentary distraction to grab hold of Kit.
"Let go of me!"
Horror snaked up his spine. He had satisfied the code duello without killing the man—though he had wanted to—yet Hudson still refused to give up on his quest to steal Kit away from him. Quinton's gaze collided with that of the desperate man who had his arm wrapped around Kit's throat and a pistol pressed to her temple. "Take one step closer, and I shall shoot."
The worried look on Kit's face was replaced with one of fierce determination. She stilled in his grasp, and Quinton could see that it surprised the baron.
"Do not try to escape, Catherine."
"It is Lady Catherine, and if you were as intelligent as you think you are, you would notice that you are surrounded. Now let go of me!"
Hudson tightened his hold around her neck, forcing her head further back. The scuffling around them stopped and silence reigned. It was as if even the trees were listening, waiting to hear what the scurvy bastard would say next.
"We are leaving, and you will not attempt to stop me. I will have Catherine and may or may not keep her. It all depends on whether or not I find her as talented on her back as you have."
"Lady Catherine is an innocent!" Quinton roared. "You will pay for slandering my bride-to-be, and for the wager you placed."
He did not dare take his gaze off the unbalanced baron. Fear such as he had never known threatened to cut him off at the knees.
The incongruity of that image had him snorting to cover his laughter. Knee …not knees. He only had one.
"You think this is a laughing matter?" the baron shrieked. "I thought the reason you tossed that grappling hook and scaled four floors was your desperate need to find a woman to marry someone like you. Only a one-legged man with half a brain would attempt to cross the distance suspended in midair hanging from that rope."
"One-and-a-half-legged man" Quinton reminded him. "As to half a brain, at the moment, I would say you were the one working with little to no brain."
Hudson narrowed his gaze and glared at Quinton. Exactly as Quinton intended.
"I am not the one too dense to realize he is about to be apprehended by the Watch, and brought to stand trial for attempted murder and kidnapping a peer of the realm's betrothed."
"Quite a bluff, Quinton. I still say—"
"It is no bluff," Moreland bellowed. "My men have their guns trained on the back of your skull."
"I have a man standing on your left and another on your right," Coventry advised. "When I give the signal, they will aim for your temples. You are most definitely surrounded."
"Two of my wolves are aiming for your knees," Mrs. Dove-Lyon called out.
"You're lying!" Hudson shouted.
"Alec never lies," Kit retorted.
"Too afraid to glance to your right or left, Hudson?" Moreland taunted the man.
"He is a coward," Coventry reminded the viscount.
Hudson took half a step backward, and Moreland chuckled. "Keep going and you shall feel two pistol barrels pressed to the back of your head. Or did you forget my men are armed and standing behind you?"
"Shut up! All of you!" Hudson shouted.
Quinton's hands started to tremble, but he controlled the movement and his fear that the baron would not react the way they hoped. "What is it going to be, Hudson—will you let Lady Catherine go and surrender?"
"I will always love you, Alec." Tears streamed down Kit's face as she closed her eyes. Her lips were moving, and Quinton sensed she was praying. His own litany of prayer rang through his head: Lord, do not let her die!
"You may as well shoot me, Hudson," Kit rasped. "I have no intention of ever letting your slimy fingers touch me."
Her words had their desired effect. Hudson whirled her around to face him, and yanked her close. "I shall do whatever I want with you. No one will stop me!"
Quinton was already moving by the time the baron lowered his head, intent on proving his point by kissing Kit. Quinton wrenched the pistol from Hudson's hand, tossed it to Moreland, who caught it on the fly. But before he could land one punch, his bride-to-be kneed her captor in the bollocks.
The baron groaned and fell to his knees, curling into a tight ball.
"Alec!"
Quinton caught Kit as she hurled herself against him. He wrapped his arm around her and held her to his pounding heart. "My God, Kit! My heart stopped when you told him to shoot you!"
"I would rather die than let him defile me. I already told you how abysmal my Season and a half was. No one was ever tempted to kiss me… Until you."
"I know, love."
She stared up at him. "How did you know?"
"Your lips were untried, waiting for me."
"Maybe I have kissed someone," she grumbled.
"You haven't," he insisted. "I am more than willing to let you practice on me." Her fierce frown had him chuckling, when moments before he was ready to howl in agony. "I am a patient man, and you have been an apt student so far."
They stared into one another's eyes in a silent battle of wills. Quinton knew he would count his blessings for the rest of his days. He had not thought to find a woman to love who would love him in return. Yet here she stood frowning up at him, silently disagreeing with him. He could not wait to begin their married life together!
"Kiss her already!" Mrs. Dove-Lyon grumbled. "I have a full day of appointments ahead of me."
Quinton lowered his head until their lips were a breath apart. "Kiss me back, love."
He barely heard the cheers erupting around them—all he could hear was the sweet moan from the woman in his arms. The woman he would spend the rest of his life kissing.
"It's raining harder, Stansbury," Moreland called out.
He stared into Kit's warm brown eyes and brushed a damp lock from her forehead. "So it is."
She threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, "Kiss me back, Alec."
He lowered his mouth to hers as another carriage arrived. Madame Beaudoine emerged. "Earl Stansbury, I understand you wished for me to arrive earlier than agreed for the fitting."
"Thank you for accommodating me, madame ."
She nodded. "Lady Catherine, we have much to do—please allow me to offer you a ride home."